


Unskinny Bop

by SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Feels, Dean Winchester Fluff, Dean Winchester Smut, F/M, Sexy Dean Winchester, Supernatural - Freeform, Werewolf Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop/pseuds/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for @demonspawn2468<br/>Imagine Dean confides in you about some body confidence issues</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unskinny Bop

Unskinny Bop

 

BANG BANG BANG! The sound of your gun, Dean's gun, and Sam's gun all echoed through the old warehouse, making your ears ring. The giant wolf fell on top of you, dead as a door-nail. You grimaced as you felt the blood gush onto you from the carcass. “Um, a little help, guys. This is disgusting.”

 

The werewolf was pulled off of you by Sam, and Dean reached down to give you a hand up. “Jesus, Y/N... you are...”

 

“Amazing?” You asked, smirking slightly.

 

“I was gonna say 'covered in dog blood', but sure, we'll go with 'amazing.' You aren't getting into my car like that, though.” Dean smiled warmly at you and rubbed your back, but kept you at arms length. You didn't blame him. The three of you had pumped that wolf so full of silver bullets, it had practically exploded on you. You were a hot mess.

 

“Well, I'm not riding back to the hotel naked.” You began to help Sam drag the corpse outside where you could burn it.

 

“You could. I'm not gonna argue.” Dean replied, taking another paw and helping move the job along.

 

“Jesus, Dean, _seriously?_ ” Sam rolled his eyes. Then he looked at you. “I'm sure we have a blanket or something in the trunk that you can cover the seat with, Y/N.”

 

“Trust me, Sam. Dean's comments just roll off, like water from a duck.” You turned and winked at Dean.

 

“Keep telling yourself that, Sweetheart.” He gave you his best smile, the one he knew made your heart race. Damn that man.

 

* * *

You'd actually met the Winchesters on a hunt a decade before, looking for a particularly crafty coven of witches. That's when you'd first hooked up with Dean. Much like him, you lived fast and loose, and by your own rules. You never stayed anywhere long, never tied yourself down to anything or anyone, no commitments. Over the years you'd continued to run into each other and work together, and, lets be frank, you and Dean had seen _a lot_ of each other. The fire never stopped burning between the two of you, rekindling every time you'd met up. You'd both aged. You'd both seen a lot, and you'd both grown into different people. The last few months had seemed to change Dean in extreme way though, like he'd all of a sudden come to a realization about life or something. Somehow in the blink of an eye you'd gone from “occasionally working jobs together and sharing drunken nights having spectacular sex in shady motel rooms” to “hunting together a lot, being around each other a lot, and having spectacular yet more meaningful sex in slightly less shady motel rooms.” You didn't live with them at the bunker- you had your own place a few counties away. But you were spending _a lot_ of time together, _normal_ time, not just hunting time. You did normal things. You went to the movies. You went camping. You made Dean go to Disneyland. (He almost got into a fight with Mickey, something about Mickey looking at him funny, and you were asked politely to leave.) It was like Dean was looking for something he'd never had much interest in before, and so were you. It was _almost_ like you were together. Maybe you were. It sure felt like it.

 

When you returned to the hotel, you went directly to your room through a side entrance, so no one would see you covered in blood and get freaked out or ask any weird questions, or worse, call the cops. You slid into the shower, throwing your clothes in the trash- they weren't even salvageable. Not even close. There wasn't enough OxyClean in the world to get those bloodstains out.

 

You weren't in there three minutes before Dean's warm body stepped in behind you, his hands moving up your sides and resting on your hips, his lips burying themselves in your neck.

 

“What took you so long?” You asked him, turning around and tossing your arms lazily over his shoulders.

 

“You were covered in werewolf gore. I had to give you a few minutes to hose off.” He grinned at you, his hands moving up your back and pulling you up against him, water cascading over both of your bodies.

 

“I haven't washed it out of my hair yet.” You warned him. “I've just been standing under the water.”

 

“Oh God, you haven't.” He stepped back, grabbing the shampoo bottle for you. “Let's fix that.” He helped you wash the gunk out of your hair. Once that was done, he turned to you with a familiar glint in his eyes. Now that you weren't a disgusting mess, he seemed _very_ interested in getting you nice and soapy, and then lifting you up against the tile wall for some post-hunting shower sex.

* * *

After the shower, you got out first and left Dean in the bathroom, entering your hotel room. It was late. You toweled off, dried your hair, and put on a long v-neck nightshirt and some panties to sleep in. You knew Dean would be staying over. That was the unspoken arrangement these last few months, and you were more than fine with it. To be honest you'd never expected to end up with Dean, but now that it had happened, you were pretty happy. And happy was an odd thing for you, and you knew it was an almost unfathomable thing for Dean. It wasn't something hunters often did, and definitely not something they did _well._

 

You'd heard the shower turn off a while before, but Dean hadn't come out of the bathroom. You waited a few more minutes, then went to see what he was doing. The door was slightly open. You half expected to find him in front of the mirror, doing “Incredible Hulk/Lou Ferrigno” poses or making his hair into a Mohawk, or some other random shit that you'd occasionally walk in on him doing. Instead, as you entered the small restroom, your heart kind of sank. He was standing in front of the floor length mirror in the corner, and his face looked sad, like he didn't like what he saw. He looked almost melancholy as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, a loathing look on his handsome face.

 

“Babe?” You leaned against the door frame. He jumped a bit, as though you'd startled him. “What's wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” He wrapped the towel tighter around his waist and turned to leave, then turned back to the mirror. “Er, Y/N, can I ask you something?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“It's kind of... embarrassing.”

 

“Dean, we've known each other how long? You've seen me in plenty of embarrassing situations.”

 

He smiled at that. “Like the backseat of that Volkswagen...”

 

You rolled your eyes. Not that again. “Seriously. What's wrong?”

 

He looked slightly mortified to tell you. He walked out into the bedroom and sat on the motel bed. He turned to you and very seriously asked you, “Am I getting fat?”

 

You looked at him. Was he joking? He had to be joking. You must have given him a really odd look, because the next thing out of his mouth was, “This isn't a joke, Y/N. I feel fat. Am I getting fat?”

 

You stood back and looked at him. All you could see was six feet of muscle. He'd filled out over the years- he wasn't 26 anymore. His six-pack wasn't as defined as it was ten years ago, but who's was? Yours definitely wasn't. And his abs were definitely still there, and still solid. But fat? There was no way. You sat back down on the bed beside him.

 

“Dean, Jesus. No. You aren't fat. You're perfect.” You looked at him, looking so unsure of himself in only his tan bath towel. Dean _never_ looked unsure of himself. Ever. The fact that he'd let down his walls in front of you was flattering, but you wished it weren't due to some unnecessary body issues.

 

“I feel like I've gotten bigger. Wider.”

 

“Well, of course you have. How old are you now?”

 

“Thirty four.” He looked at your face, which blatantly told him you weren't buying that bullshit. “Thirty six.” He sighed. “I'm thirty six.”

 

“Dean, you have the perfectly healthy body of a thirty six year old man. Frankly, I don't understand how you can eat all those cheeseburgers and drink that much beer and still look as good as you do.” You shook your head. “Most men would kill to look as good as you.”

 

“I'm a lot bigger than when we first met.” He stretched back and lay down on the bed with a long sigh. You lay beside him.

 

“That was a decade ago. You don't think I've gone up a few pants sizes since then?” You turned on your side, planting a kiss on his cheek.

 

He turned to you. “No way. You look great. You have curves in all the right places and-”

 

“And, as you've obviously forgotten, I didn't used to _even have curves_.” You smiled, your heart happy knowing that he thought you looked so good and hadn't changed a bit. “We both grew up, Dean. We grew into ourselves. But you still look amazing. You aren't fat, babe.”

 

“You're not just telling me that because I gave you mind blowing shower sex and saved you from a werewolf?” He rolled towards you, taking your hand in his.

 

“Um, the sex was sub-par, and your brother helped with the werewolf.” You grinned at him teasingly.

 

“Sweetheart, you _know_ that wasn't sub-par.” He ran his thumb over your knuckles. “I don't _do_ sub-par.”

 

“No, you don't. That's one thing that _hasn't_ changed since we met.” You smiled, and reached out, pulling him close to you into a tight hug. “What's with the sudden bout of self consciousness?”

 

He thought about it for a few minutes. “I guess I just found some photos from when we were younger, and I was so wiry back then. And Sam, you know how he is, always running everywhere and eating salads and shit. It just made me start to think, maybe I'm losing my edge.”

 

“You aren't losing your edge. You aren't wiry because you aren't a twenty six year old kid anymore. You're a grown man. You have a sexy man's body now. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.” You snuggled down into his shoulder, acutely aware that he was still only in a towel.

 

“You wouldn't?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Not even 26-year-old, go all night, studly Dean Winchester?”

 

“I prefer my men seasoned, thanks.” You looked up at him, into his eyes. You knew you'd gotten through to him. He seemed relaxed, and a lot less self conscious. You were glad. You hated that you lived in a world where someone like Dean could be worried that naturally filling out as you got older constituted as fat. That was beyond fucked up.

 

“I'm glad I've got you.” He whispered in your ear.

 

“Yeah?” You were surprised. He didn't often talk about things like that. He nodded. “ _Do_ you have me?” you asked him.

 

“I don't know. Do I?” He leaned up on his elbow, smoothing some hair behind your ear. You looked up into his eyes and smiled.

 

“Yeah, Dean. You do.”

 

 

_carry on my wayward son_

 


End file.
